Vows of Revolution
by elphabah
Summary: Yagami Sayu has come along way from the person she had once been. 27 years old and working as the NPA's rookie detective, her strength is tested by a frightening new case. Because when one story ends, another always begins.
1. Chapter 1

**Vows of Revolution**

_By Elphabah_

Eight years after Kira's reign of terror ended . . .

_The chaos engulfed him. _

_Gunshots blared, the sick metallic scent of blood and smoke mixing. At first, no one took notice of the unmoving bodies that had begun to accumulate. Screams of pain as hearts convulsed violently and then stopped altogether were drowned out by the static of panicked noise that clouded the air. Amidst the flood of citizens moving from one broken store-window to another, one after another began to drop to the ground. Dead._

_"Die," he whispered feverishly. Carried by the wind, a pamphlet brushed against his leg. 'Kira is dead,' it said in bold black newsprint. But He's not. Lord Kira, my God lives. And I am his Voice._

_The one to judge the impure. _

_The names and faces of those unfit, unworthy, had begun to blur together. The minutes plunged into hours as he sat there overlooking the plaza from the hotel window, his movements frozen save the frantic gestures of his writing hand. He would look up only briefly to read their names. Those who cannot live by Kira's order must die._

_Driving the pen to the ill-fated notebook, the man felt at once the very embodiment of justice. All his years of wishing for a better future, a safer world for his now dead son. This was his reward. His destiny. He had ascended. _There will be no heaven or hell, _He had said_: For you, there awaits something else in the afterlife.  
_  
When Kawahara finally broke from his trance, the world around him had fallen into a lull. The others were standing around him, their hoods drawn, faces obscured but wielding satisfaction. _

"_You did well, Brother," voices murmured but he could not hear them. He did not care. Already, he knew he was not one of them because he had become something more. Much, much more._

_How many had dropped dead by his silent hand? He was shaking from the power. Most of the crowds had dispersed, seized by a subconscious fear of Kira's wrath. And those that remained, mostly weary officers, carried confused expressions as they tried to make sense of what had just occurred. Their eyes darted in paranoia, searching for the one who had brought the riot to a halt. _

_The dead bodies of looters were being carted off in body bags. An eerie peace bathed the city street. And on the horizon a storm was coming, bringing rain to wash away the blood-stained sidewalks. Kawahara smiled with swelling pride, nursing visions of a Great Flood._

_Let them know that their god was still watching._

* * *

It was slightly before 9:30 in the morning when she turned on the television. The sound was on mute, but she didn't notice. The aging woman could not hear much over the clatter of cooking as she prepared breakfast for two anyways. It was a Sunday, so she expected her daughter soon.

"What is a mother to do when her only child left hardly visits_,"_ she clucked to herself, sometimes she found it comforting to talk aloud. She could go for days without hearing a familiar voice. There wasn't much emotion in the words, despite the initial ache it held when Sayu moved away, spending more and more time on her own. _Mom, I'm sorry but I need to work late tonight; I will visit next week okay? _She had heard the same excuses so often, but maybe it was for the best. It used to pain Sayu terribly to come home to an empty house, to look for her brother and father—to be disappointed by their vacant seats at the dinner table. She was always such a fragile, emotional girl. Sachiko was afraid that the scars of their deaths might have cut too deep. . .

_I don't expect her to ever get over Light and her father; they meant too much to her, but I pray every day that she can find some happiness. For me it is too late, I am old. When Soichiro died I knew I would never know joy again. But oh, for Sayu-chan to be happy again. That is all I can pray for. So if she cannot keep to her visits, I must only hope it means she is out living her life. _

Sachiko sighed wearily, half-heartedly heating the rice. Years of sorrow have taken there toll on her as well. She persevered for Sayu's sake, and partially because it's what Soichiro would have expected of her. She pushed a tendril of gray hair from her face as she sliced the crimson apple into careful, delicate pieces. By the time the front door opened and her twenty-seven-year-old daughter yells, '_tadaima'_, she has finished setting the table.

"Goodness Sayu! Where is your jacket?" the mother frowned as the daughter came forward and kisses her on the forehead. She scolded amiably, "It is very cold out today, you know."

"Hmm, what do you mean? I walked here from the train station and it was just fine!" Sayu said with a tender smile as she took a seat at the table. Her mother waddled slowly back into the kitchen to bring the pot of green tea, settling it between them.

Sachiko shook her head. It was her rightful responsibility to nag her daughter and both were comfortable with the routine. She poured the steaming tea into Sayu's cup while the young woman chattered away. In this brief moment, Sachiko savored her daughter's smile. There was no despair hidden in her eyes; Sachiko was convinced, she was _healthy_. _It did her good to leave Honshu for awhile,_ the mother remarked silently as she recalled the four month retreat Sayu had taken to Hokkaido for rest and recuperation several years ago. She came back changed, different. But Sachiko was sure it was for the better.

They went through the casual exchange of news. Sachiko's garden, the neighbor's child's piano recital, the movie that Sayu saw with some friends a couple weeks ago. The mother tried to pry into other matters, _"How is work? Are you still a receptionist at the insurance company?" _She received vague answers, like always. She didn't know why Sayu must be so mysterious sometimes. As a child she could never keep secrets, they simply spilled from her lips so freely.

Sachiko's worse fear was that Sayu had taken to working in a hostess club. _It's dangerous, Sayu-chan! And there are less disgraceful ways to earn money!_ Her mother scolded, trying to probe for answers. But with a laugh Sayu denied it all. There was a twinkle in her eye but she did not say anything more. So Sachiko would continue to fret over such matters, _you are going to worry me right into my grave,_ Sachiko sometimes thought to herself.

They sat companionable silence. The television was still on mute, when it began flashing images in the background

"OH GOD!" Sayu screamed suddenly.

There was a crash as she knocked over her cup, leaping to her feet. Sachiko's heart jumped as the young woman ran to the television. At first she was bewildered by this reaction but then she saw it. The headlines spurring across the screen, she saw it in bold ugly letters: HAS KIRA RETURNED? Even before Sayu could turn on the volume, Sachiko's mouth had gone dry with dread.

The news reporter was speaking quickly, standing in the deserted streets of the Ginza district, "it is here where the riot broke out, causing untold damage to the nearby shops and several casualties. But what has gotten many riled up, including the police, is the eighteen individuals that died of heart attacks. Two of the people who died of cardiac arrest are suspected to be of the small group that began the riot, while the others that died are still being investigated. That's all we know at this moment. . ."

Sachiko's gaze darted to Sayu's still form, she was scared of how her daughter may react—too worried in fact, to dwell on her own fears. She stood and moved towards Sayu but the girl spun to face her. Sachiko was surprised by what she _doesn't _see. Fear. Sayu dark eyes narrowed and she spoke harshly, "Can you believe that junk!"

"What?" Sachiko blurted, wringing her hands in the folds of her apron; this was not the first thing she expected to hear from her daughter after such news. Just a moment ago, after all, she had been rather upset.

"It's absolutely ridiculous," Sayu replied, her voice tinged with anger. "How dare those reporters try to scare citizens like that? It's obvious what this is: another group acting out against the government. Another rotten revolt caused by some nutcases."

"But the _heart attacks_, Sayu-chan," Sachiko pressed, alarmed by her daughter's tone.

"I bet only a couple old people had heart attacks from all the excitement and the news is just trying to play it up," she nodded, "Remember a year ago when that one radio station said they had evidence that Kira had a son? And then it turns out it was all a hoax. This is the same thing."

Sachiko was alarmed by her daughter's denial, how adamantly she refused the thought that Kira, the terrorist that destroyed their family, may just have returned. "But Sayu-chan, this is different," she said softly.

But Sayu didn't hear her. "Listen, mom. I got to get going now but will you promise me to stay inside today? Lock the front door and just stick to house, there might be a lot of weirdoes out causing trouble because of this frenzy. Promise?"

Sachiko promised to stay inside, watching her daughter slip into her shoes and leave in a whirl of motion. When she's gone, Sachiko found herself still in confusion over everything that just transpired. And what about Sayu? She wondered what thoughts were churning in that young woman's head, coming to the realization that this was a very different person from the child she had once known. How strongly she had ordered her to stay at home, the sudden way she left. . .

_Sayu-chan, who are you now? _The mother wondered.

* * *

This was bad. Sayu knew instinctively that whatever had happened, it was going to send the Japanese citizens into panic; if it got out of hand, the whole world might face a disaster. _Kira_. The name alone had come to carry the same hideous weight as Adolf Hitler. Stalin. Mussolini. _Those foolish reporters might have well said Satan himself has taken up residence in Tokyo!_ She thought harshly to herself.

Sayu regretted leaving her mother alone. _I'm sorry, mom. There is so much I wish I could tell you, but it's best you don't know. _She regretted many things, but in the aftermath of hearing the news report—she had much more important matters to be concerned with and pushed her feelings aside. In truth, she found herself suffering from a very acute sense of fear. A terror squeezing at her chest, an old paranoia washing over her thoughts. _Someday, mom I am going to tell you everything. I'm going to tell you what I've really been doing with my life. . . _

She moved briskly down the street, pulling out her plain black cell-phone as she moved. Sayu dialed a familiar phone number.

"_Have you seen the television? Has the chief released anything to the press?"_

There was a reply on the other end of the line.

"_Okay, I am on my way." _She clicked off, her steps quickening as she hastened to the train station.

When Sayu arrived at the NPA headquarters, there are swarms of reporters and civilians blocking the entrance. Cameras flashed like tiny explosions of light, but Sayu didn't hesitate. A path was cleared as she pushed through the crowd, showing her badge as she entered the building.

By the front desk, her partner wass waiting.

"You're just in time Yagami-chan," Matsuda greeted her, bowing slightly. "Aizawa is about to have a meeting with all agents."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Sayu asked as they walked towards the conference hall, passing sweaty-faced pages as they raced from one office to another. Inside the normally quiet headquarters of Japan's police force had suddenly turned to disorder. _Things must be serious,_ Sayu thinks to herself, _I have never seen this place in such a mess._

"Not really," he answered with wide-eyed honesty, "I am more out of the loop here then usual, actually..."

_Well isn't that encouraging,_ Sayu thought dryly.

Together they entered the conference hall to the sight of a full room, uncertainty brimming as questions flew. It was hot, stuffy from all the bodies crammed into the limited space. Sayu, at an unremarkable height of 5'4'', had an obscured view of the podium from where she stood. Luckily when Aizawa entered the front of the hall, most people took their seats quickly and an eager silence filled the air. Everyone, on edge, waited to hear what the department chief had to say.

"We have reason," he wasted no time announcing, "to investigate the recent casualties in the Ginza riot as possible Kira victims."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

There was collective disbelief. He could see the terror rising in the men's face as he spoke. "Shortly after the heart attacks in the Ginza riot, nations all around the world announced similar instances within the last ten hours," Aizawa gripped the edge of the podium, trying to steady his voice. "We are still receiving information from other organizations, ICPO will call for an emergency meeting tomorrow but until then we must wait. I understand if there are those of you who do not feel comfortable working on this case."

He took a breath, casting an even stare into the crowded room. His eyes met Mogi's, Ide's, and Matsuda's—silently he acknowledged them. "For now I would like you all to keep this information confidential; do what ever you can to ease the public's fears but do not, I repeat, do not let them think that Kira has returned. As of this moment, we must act according with what we have; these deaths may be the work of Kira or someone trying to mimic him, but for the time being the public cannot know about this."

Someone shouted, "Then what do we tell the people?" This voice is followed by the other agents, each expressing their own personal concern.

Aizawa raised his hand, calling for silence. With each passing moment his composure began to fail. Grinding his teeth, the man answered shortly, "We must tell the public that there is no information to disclose at this time but that there is no reason to panic. That is all for now everyone, you are dismissed."

The chief moved off the stage and was gone, leaving the large group of agents to disperse with few questions answered. They had been told so little, and as Sayu listened to the conversations—many, including her, felt Aizawa had not revealed everything there was to know.

"This is bad," she said softly, looking over at Matsuda. She was slightly surprised to see his profile drawn with grim shadows. It was an expression she had never seen him wear. "Matsuda-san? Are you okay?" Sayu inquired but he did not hear her. After a pause when she received no reply, Sayu gently grabbed his arm, "Matsuda-san?" It awoken him from his reverie but brings her no comfort.

As though he suddenly became aware of his surroundings, the cold distant mask Matsuda had worn only moments ago was melted away with a warm affable smile. "Oh, uh, I'm fine! I was just thinking about the original Kira case."

"_And?_" She pressed, her voice slightly more impatient then she had wished to sound. Sayu quirked a brow, her curiosity inspired. What could have possibly driven Matsuda into such a severe demeanor? It was like a dark cloud had descended over his features. That, more then anything else, worried her.

"And. . ." He began, trailing off as his pager beeped. Sayu looked at her own, but there was no message. "It's Aizawa," Matsuda announced, seemingly unperturbed that he had received a page and she, his partner, had not. But then again, Matsuda was an oblivious creature, "I better go meet him."

"Matsuda-san, wait," she stood there, suddenly feeling rather disoriented. What on earth was going on?

He moves to the door but pauses, looking over his shoulder, "hmm?"

"Will you call me later?"

Matsuda grinned happily and bowed, "Sure. Take care, Yagami-chan."

And then he disappeared, leaving Sayu to wonder what the chief would have to speak with him about. He was Matsuda, after all. If it had to do with a case, why wasn't she asked to come along? Did Aizawa think she wasn't capable? _It can't be that_, she says to herself, _I am no less of a cop then Matsuda or anyone else here for that matter._ But what if it concerned this recent case? If it had something to do with Kira, perhaps Aizawa did not think she could handle it. _Everyone still thinks of me as nothing more then Yagami Soichiro's daughter, the kid sister of Yagami Light._ For a moment, she felt bitter but it passed.

What ever it is that Aizawa had to say to Matsuda alone, Sayu tried not to trouble herself over it. Her partner would probably end up telling her everything later on.

Because it was a Sunday and her day-off, Sayu saw no point in sticking around the headquarters. _Good luck getting any work done here today, anyways._ To avoid the crowds outside she took the building's back exit and cut through the park. It was early, so most children were still in school and the grounds were relatively silent. An elderly couple was sitting on a nearby fence, feeding the little black birds. They seem unaffected by the world; perhaps they had not heard the news about Kira. Or if they did, it might not really matter much to them. Perhaps they said to themselves, 'we are good people, we have nothing to fear. Kira only strikes those who deserve to be punished.'

_I suppose if I tried to believe in that kinda idea it wouldn't make me a very good officer, _she says, _or a good sister, or daughter. These were ideals my brother and father stood for, the equal justice they sought, the things they found worth dieing for._

The crisp morning breeze aroused her senses as Sayu passed the sandbox where she had played at in her childhood.

"_Oniichan,help me build a sand castle!" Sayu wailed, swinging her red plastic shovel in the air. She stomped her foot, nearly striking the book that Light had been reading under a tree. He was ten-years-old at the time but already he flaunted an impressive mind. A brilliance that shined and shined like the afternoon sun. _

_If Sayu had disturbed his peace, her older brother showed no sign of annoyance. He closed the book and stood, smiling at her. He extended a hand and laughed, "Okay, Sayu-chan. Let's go build you a castle."_

"_A big one," she demanded happily, "one that touches the sky!"_

"_Of course," he answered, "there is no other kind of castle worth building."_

She sighed, prying herself from theses weary recollections. They were self-destructive. Every thread of the past, Sayu was determined to sever them. Her heart was frayed enough at the edges, patched with visits to a shrink and lots of medicine. It simply didn't need any more tears.

It hurt too much to think about Light. More then their father's death, when Light was killed in that shooting it shattered something very precious inside her. She had tried to replace what had been broken with other things: The years in the police academy, the slow grueling training to become someone of worth; _if Light and dad are looking down at me from heaven, I can only hope they might be proud of what I've done._ She considered_, or at least not be upset._

_Dad never wanted me to marry a cop, but he never said anything about becoming_ _one_, she said to herself with a wry smile. In truth, this had been a fate she had never really envisioned for herself either. Too weak, too whiny, too emotional. _I have too much of too many flaws. . ._

When she got home, she stared in the mirror, trying to find that girl. The naïve little child she had been for so many years. The young girl her mother, perhaps even still, thought of her. But she was not there. She had _vanished. _In Sayu's reflection she saw nothing but the woman she had become: Long black hair fashioned into a haphazard pony-tail, a heart-shaped face marred with premature lines, strong small lips pulled in a serious tug.

It had all begun when she had been kidnapped as a college freshman, used as a hostage against her own father. It was then little Sayu disappeared for good. Because even before their deaths, Sayu had felt like she was cracking. _Break or heal, break or heal; this is the choice you need to make. _She had chosen to heal, to become stronger. But it was a slow process, one that had yet to fully complete its cycle.

She touched her hand to her cheek, reaffirming her existence.

* * *

They filtered into his office slowly: first Mogi, then Ide and afterwards Matsuda entered the room five minutes later, shutting the door behind him. The shades had been drawn, the artificial lighting of the computer screen and a desk lamp casting the interior of the office into a somber dreary mood. They were all there for one reason. _Kira. _

Aizawa had hoped that he would never have to hear that name again eight years ago, when Yagami Light had been laid to rest and his megalomania extinguished. But now he was digging up old files, searching for some answer that could help make sense of this anxiety that rose in his chest, the indescribable feeling that the Ginza incident was an ill omen of something much more terrible to come.

"L," Aizawa said to the computer screen, turning it to face the others, "everyone is here now."

"Thank you," the static voice replied.

There was a silence among the party, from the webcam 'L' watched the four men settle around the screen, awaiting his words. Far, far away their white-haired leader was sitting in his private study, fiddling with a toy gundam. "I have sent over the files from the U.S. government on the heart attack cases similar to the one in Ginza."

"How many deaths?" Ide asked as Aizawa passed around the folder.

"Only two," the computer-voice answered, "but they were important political figures and their deaths were recorded on live coverage of their new legislative ideas."

Matsuda exclaimed as he read a part from the files, "it says here that the politicians were trying to pass Anti-Kira worship laws. Then this might mean one of those Kira cults is behind this!"

The four tangible members of the meeting stared at Matsuda, Ide elbowing him in the side while he mumbled, "no _duh._"

"I have already taken that into consideration," L's clipped voice replied. "Investigators in America are in the process of tracking down prominent Kira-supporter groups, but it isn't very promising. We are not looking for simple-minded cultists but terrorists with zealot motives. So far they have done well to make themselves untraceable."

"Are you congratulating these people, L?" Ide asked, mildly appalled.

"No," he answered, twirling a strand of white hair absently, "but it does make me wonder who is behind this. Luckily, we have a much better start with this case then we did with the first Kira incident. We know how the kills are carried out, and that whoever is behind this is no doubt much more foolish then Yagami Light was. Mistakes will be made and this killer will be caught."

The others nodded, feeling slightly more encouraged by L's perspective. There was still apprehension in the air though, but it would fade once the killer was caught. This time, Aizawa was sure, things would end quickly. But he was still gripped by the way things had begun initially, over a decade ago when the supernatural notebook first proved itself a deadly weapon, its wielder, an invisible murderer. It was like suffering from a paralyzing episode of déjà vu. _What will I do this time? If things come to the point that had before? We don't have L, at least not the same one; and there is no chief to take charge if I leave. I can't leave this case, because _I'm_ the chief now. _

Yagami Soichiro. Ryuuzaki, the first L, had been so confident that this killer would be caught in three months tops.

_And then it all had unraveled, faster and faster we were falling into his trap. We had come so close to dying. All of us,_ Aizawa wondered if he was ready for that kind of jeopardy.

"That is it for now," L said. "I will contact you further when I discover more."

And that was it. He left no further instructions, a dull beep as the broadcast connection was lost. Matsuda tried to act confident, spouting his standard pep-talk but everyone knew he was worried as well. The same question was circling in their minds, as they ask themselves: What did fate have in store?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When they were dismissed, Matsuda lingered. His hands were fidgeting so he hid them in his pockets, hoping the new chief didn't notice. He cleared his throat and Aizawa looked up at him questioningly, "What is it Matsuda? Are you having second thoughts about the case?"

"What?" Matsuda answered. He shook his head; in truth, he felt more confident with the new Kira. Before he had trouble confronting his inner ambivalence about the case, his deep down hesitation hanging on much longer than it had in others. It was murder, yes, but the former Kira—Light—had done good too. . ."No not at all, um, I was just kinda curious, I mean about Sayu. . ."

"Yagami-chan," Aizawa said thoughtfully, "I see. She is your partner and I understand that she has worked with you for many cases but I spoke with L about this and, for this one I think it is best she doesn't know about Light."

There is was a stillness after Aizawa said his name; an eerie chill filled the room. Matsuda bit the inside of his cheek and darted his eyes to the floor, as if in fear to betray his own thoughts. Another black secret he had to keep from her; deceit was always a burden for him, but it became heavier when he thought of Sayu. He hated to keep secrets from Sayu but hated to hurt her with the truth even more. It is the only reason he agreed to withhold telling her too much about the case.

But he was also grateful for Aizawa's interference. It saved him from facing his actions, the actions that still brought him a sliver of shame._ Would I really be able to tell Sayu the truth? That I was the one who shot Light, no, Kira—he was Kira in that moment. What I did was necessary. . . _

_I had to. . . for justice._

* * *

When Matsuda got home he still felt terribly inflicted. He dreaded calling Sayu, lying to the woman he adored. She meant a lot to him, she always had. _She's also the reason you don't date too,_ an annoying voice chimed in as he tossed his raincoat onto the floor. His apartment was just outside the metropolitan Tokyo area, too small for some but perfectly quaint for the cop's modest salary. Family pictures filled the walls, birthday cards on the counter, his futon rolled up in the closet.

He took a dive at the couch and laid in the cold shadows of the living room. He prepared what he is going to say, rehearsing the lines so they don't sound too forced, too fake.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Matsuda-san?" She asked, her gentle voice marked with worry. Even though she was not present, even though he was only talking to her over the phone, he was sweating and feared that she might just be able to tell from the awkwardness in his voice.

"Yes, yes! I'm alright. Just tired, you know; it's been a crazy day," he answered trying, to repel her concern.

"Tell me about it," she said and there was a pause.

Matsuda froze up, wondering if she meant 'tell me about it' as just a figure of speech. She didn't. "So what did Aizawa-san have to say to you?"

"Oh about that," he stalled; if he hesitated too long she would call his bluff, so Matsuda let the words roll out of his mouth, "well you know that Takanobu case?"

"Yeah what about it?" I thought we closed that case last week," she answered, "It was a pretty dry cut case. The perp confessed to the killings."

_Stay calm, _Matsuda said to himself. _Don't blow it, otherwise it means big trouble._ But even as he thought of this, he already felt himself slipping into quicksand, growing tense under the innocent interrogation. _Oh why did I have to make such a complicated lie. . ._ He gave a laugh, trying to mentally shrug his nervousness. "Right, but I guess when I wrote up the report it was kinda sloppy. Aizawa just wanted to chew me out about it, that's all."

At this point, Matsuda figured he managed the situation nicely only to be dragged further into his lie by Sayu's reaction. "But Matsuda-san I helped you write that report! How unfair of the chief to scold just you for any mistakes we _both _made," Sayu replied heatedly, "tomorrow I will tell him myself that it was my fault too—"

"No, that's really not necessary, Yagami-chan. I mean what's done is done. Try not to get worked up about it. I mean there's bigger stuff going on now what with the new Kira to worry about, right?"

"You're right," she agreed, and luckily her voice softened, "we better stay focused on this Kira case."

"Exactly! Nabbing who's ever behind this is our first priority!" Matsuda tried to rally her spirits in a different direction.

"I still feel bad that you took the blame on that case," she said, her tone sincere.

Matsuda eventually convinced Sayu that there was no harm done and agreed to letting her buy him a cup of coffee to make up for it. Despite his shame for carrying on with the lie, a part of the cop took delight in the quasi-date—the closest he would ever come to meeting Sayu on terms other than work.

Sure they were friends. They worked well as detective partners, but anything beyond that was left out of the picture. _Sorry Matsuda, I don't date older men, _she had said with a giggle, her brown eyes wide with innocence. Her comment had left him slightly dejected then, it still did now. It was years ago, a lifetime. Before the kidnapping, before it all went to pieces. Matsuda wondered if she even remembered saying that. _Sorry Matsuda, I don't date older men._ Sometimes he felt like asking her if she still thought that way, but just as he would try to work up the nerve to ask it, she would tease him about his graying hair and in an instant his resolve would fade.

By now they had hung up but Matsuda still found himself mulling over Sayu, her wellbeing and how much she really meant to him. In many ways, she was the only woman in his life. _There is that waitress, Momoko-san_, he told himself. She reminded him of Misa Misa in some ways, perhaps that's why he felt a little attraction towards the woman. But no one matched Sayu. Her charisma, her kindness.

Without realizing his own fatigue Matsuda drifted asleep thinking of only one person.

* * *

Yagami Light as the world knew him was dead. His ashes were buried next to his father's, a black onyx slab with the kanji for moon etched deep into its surface marking his gravesite. The Yagami family had its own area designated for its deceased, a long line of men and women who had served the world. His grandfather had been an officer too, just like Light and his father. His father and grandfather had been honorable people, worthy of the respect they had gained. Their memories were worth preserving.

The Japanese as a people were not keen on long epitaphs but perhaps if one had been written it would have said something like this:

"Here lies a loving son, brother and world-feared homicidal maniac."

But then again, few knew of Light's second identity. To very few had he been known as Kira, the master killer and purifier of the earth's unworthy. Heavy charges having been drawn against him, he laid now unable to defend himself against the media, the police, and the fair-weather supporters.

If he had seen his own death coming, what would he have done differently? The betrayal of so many, Mikami Teru, that bastard. Ryuuk, that hideous excuse of a taxidermy experiment gone wrong. These sort of thoughts, perhaps, would have crossed his mind. But Yagami Light was no longer capable of cognitive reasoning. His genius, wasted; deadly brain cells burned away. Because Yagami Light as the world knew him was dead.

_Why was it human behavior to kill the savior? _

This name, Yagami Light, meant very little to the Shinigami except for the fact that he occasionally found himself recollecting a life he never lived. A life he's pretty sure once belonged to none other then the twenty-three-year-old deceased maniac.

It was this memory that drew him to the earthly plane, letting his Death Note fall into the hands of a mortal, if only to buy him time to search. To search for what, he was not entirely sure. Answers mostly, but also for more petty reasons—it gave him something to do.

Whether he got what he sought, the Shinigami would leave that up to fate to satisfy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was another sleepless night for him, another one among many. Nate Rivers, to many known only as Near, was growing disturbingly accustomed to the routine insomnia. He, in fact, embraced the cold stillnes of nightime with a heavy load of files and newspapers. It was his only way to combat the anxiety of sleeplessness. Since there was always work to be done and rather than spend the waning hours lying restlesss in bed, the albino man chose to make use of the extra time given to him.

His doctor had begun to worry that the lack of sleep could seriously hinder his already deteriorating health. This, however, did little to faze Near. He wasn't in any pain, at least not any more than the usual aches of dying slowly. He felt dizzy but the sensation passed. His doctor had prescribed a mild sedative, a sleep aide that could help relinquish him from the nocturnal existence--if he so choosed. For now, the medicine remained at his bedside. Untouched.

Sitting up in bed, his feet dangled off the side as Near tugged a clean white shirt over his pale chest. Whether it was a cynic's touch or something else, Near knew the medicine would do little to extend his life any longer then had been decided. Facts were facts, and science was science. No matter how many chemicals they pumped into his body, how poluted his blood became with rancid swirls of toxin, death was perched on the horizon. He had five months to live according to the hospital; Near guessed he might have seven months though.

Near groped for his cane in the darkness, leaning heavily on it as he ventured down the hall to the restored library. Several years ago, it had been destroyed by a fire. Thankfully the most important materials had remained unharmed. Near was careful to keep his footsteps mute as he passed Roger's door, listening for the steady breaths of the old man. He didn't want to trouble anyone right now, or be troubled by their concern for that matter.

Turning on a light, a soft warmth took hold of the musky library. With slow deliberate steps, he moved to where his desk had been set up, blockaded by a series of filing cabinets. Upon request, Roger had dug up the boxes of papers all titled KIRA CASE. This was of course, information he had collected on the prior case. For the one that came before him now, it was much too early to have a great deal of information.

He hooked the cane on the back of his chair, but when he moved the cane fell and hit the ground with a clatter. Near didn't bother to pick up, mildly annoyed by it's mere prescence. The fact that he was now depedent upon it to move. His body was no longer his own.

_Unfortunately, this disease has come at the most perfectly worse time._ He sighed inward, his expression muted on the outside as it always was. Near rubbed his stubbled chin, thinking. Earlier, he had expressed confidence to the men of the NPA in Japan, to reassure them with his authority that this murderer would be caught, as the one before him had been. But in honesty, Near had been trying to convince himself as well. Catching the new Kira was inevitable, but now more than ever, was it crucial that it be done quickly.

With each grain of sand, time slid through his hands and it left him feeling more and more empty. Near was against the clock now, and not just because of the second Kira case.

His heir.

It was the destiny of all who chose the mantle of 'L, the world's greatest detective' that they one day choose who would take their place. For Lawliet, he had hesitated between Near and Mello, and for a moment maybe he thought of choosing Matt. When the former L had died, Near had been more than mildly disappointed that he would have neglected such a singularly important responsibility. But now he understood.

He understood because for the first time in his life, he could not rationalize his own hesitations. A part of him kept asking, _this moment, how could it have come so soon? _For the former L, he sympathized with this terrible struggle: to chose one's successor was to admit one's mortality, the fragility of one's existence. It meant acknowledging the possibility of defeat by someone, or _something. _When by design, people like Lawliet and Mello, himself included, could not allow themselves to think of the possibility of losing.

_It's foolish,_ he reasoned with himself, _not to be prepared for a reality so important. . . so inevitable._

Roger had said once that those who take this title rarely hold it for long. Lawliet, the one who had come before him, had lasted the longest until now. He had died at age twenty-six. Near was twenty-seven years-old and two months.

There was, of course, little satsifaction in this matter.

Near opened a drawer and plucked a candybar he had stashed there. Munching quietly, he became attune to his work, letting the thick taste of the chocolate fill his mouth. Time passed as he read the files Giovanni had sent over. Crimson eyes scanned the pages of prominant Kira-supporters. Some were politicians, celebrities, activists of all natures: passive ones, agressive ones, conservatives, juvinile rebels. Any one of them could have the Deathnote in their hands. He scrutinized their pictures but none of the faces triggered his intuitive instinct. Near felt like he was flailing in the sea of papers that blanketed his desk, his floor, covering over his model trainset and lego towers.

After a while, he eliminated most of the American suspects and concentrated his efforts on the men and women of the Japanese Kira supporters. There was an unsurpring abundance of radicals among the ones listed. From violent public protests to bombings at the Ministry headquarters, the Japanese had their hands full of revolutionaries in the making, people doing whatever they could to pave the way for their murdering-savior.

_People can be so destructive in the name of their ideals,_ he noted to himself with a sense of detachment. Mentally, he rattled off all the times humanity had made mistakes by indulging in its destructiveness. The list was extensive.

His thoughts circled around Yagami Light.While the memory of his defeat still triumphed in Near's memory, he still felt like he had lost in some ways. Victory had come at such a high cost. Losing Lawliet, then Mello. The few faces he had known through his childhood were only to be grasped through the fading images his mind could muster. In the end, Yagami Light had been just another pathetc criminal with no more grace than the "unworthy people" he had killed.

Secretely, Near was grateful that everything had ended there in that desolate warehouse. The bitter irony of Yagami dieing by his own device was a fitting execution no government could have achieved. It only seemed right that he felt the same agony Lawliet had felt.

_An eye for an eye. . ._

This sudden train of thought slightly alarmed Near because it stirred an undertow of vegence he had never really confronted. _Mello had always been the emotional one_, he thought dryly. Mello had been the half of their whole that was always willing to face his inner demons head on, fists raised.

In forging his identity as the "indifferent one" Near had ignored the idea of having emotions at all.

However, in the moment of midnight solitude, he was willing to indulge in the troubling thoughts that frustrated him through the passing years. Mello's death. The constant feeling of failure that had taken up residency in his heart since the blond punk no longer breathed on the earthly plane. Everything he went through these days somehow came back to Mello and his absence. He would have dreaded Near to call their rivalry a form of friendship but Near could not ignore his constant regard for the other with admirement. Frustration, annoyance, but mostly admirement. Mello had all the nerve for action that he himself lacked.

_It does one well to focus on the present, on the future, things that can be altered,_ he reminded himself, trying to tear his mental processes away from the melencholic reflections. Mello had been a casualty of the war against Kira. _This wouldn't be so difficult if he was here,_ he told himself, for atleast it would solve the issue of an heir. There would be no need for one.

He flipped the page, using his spider-leg thin fingers to follow the words. His hand suddenly stopped over a familiar name. Amane Misa. She had been the woman who supposedly aided Light as the second Kira in his earlier days. But for lack of evidence, Near was unable to see her be tried. It would have been too messy. And part of winning battles, whether in a game of chess or in life, was knowing when one would lose.

But now, seeing her name resurface in the present seemed like a sign of some sort. Near wasn't openly superstitious but he trusted his instincts. Amane Misa, being the only surviving suspect of the old Kira case--was a good place to start with an investigation. The chances were slim, less than one percent as Lawliet would have determined, that she had taken up the identity as Kira again.

But something, deep down, told him that it was with this woman cracking the case could begin. Near hoped Amane had nothing to do with the new Kira, he hoped privately because he dreaded what it could entail.

Yagami Light was dead and yet Near was hounded by the burning question, _what if?_ What if the menace had returned in a supernatural medium? He supposed if Yagami had returned, he would be dead by now. And yet he continued to ponder. There had been a time when he would have shunned the idea of occult in real-world investigations, but after coming across the horrors of shinigami and their wretched deathnotesm science-fiction had melted with reality. In many ways, the seperation had simply blurred together.

So until his questions could be laid to rest, Near would wonder.

What if. . .

What if _he _had returned?

Kawahara liked Kyoto. It was just traditional enough that it gave him a sense of stability as life threw him against the waves of time and change. Tokyo made him frantic, the sharp sound of the Tokyo-dialect grating on his nerves made it impossible to write.

He had lived in Nara as a child, gone to high school in Nara and eventually married his wife Mari. Nara was where his son, Hiro-kun, had been born. It was where they had lived, a happy family; it was where they had been destroyed, a family decimated by a cruel hand of fate. When they died, Kawahara had moved here, just outside a neighboring village by Gion.

It filled him with a romantic love for nature. He would climb the nearby mountain and write haiku, or wander the latern-glowing streets where angel-like maiko would inspire him to write stories of more honorable times. Kawahara was an author but for several years he had given up his career.

The novel he was working on now, nicknamed _The Grim Reaper's Eulogy_, was the first piece to be published in over three years.

And while Kyoto seemed in part responsible for his new inspiration, he knew with a private smile that it was the deathnote that have given him back his will to live. Lord Kira had given him this gift, to decide who was worthy of living in His purified world.

_The others think they have control, they tell me what to do, where to strike next and I pretend to listen. But all along I know that they must fear me, fear my Lord's power as it is channeled through me.Because I am the one who is in control, it is I who proves that the pen is mightier than the sword. The guns, the missles, _Kawahara thought passionately to himself, _ mankind seems so limited in compared to what I have now. _

Sitting under a willow tree, he enjoyed the cool breeze of the afternoon air. Relaxing in the shadows of one of Kyoto's many hilltop shrines gave Kawahara an excellent vantage point of the cityscape. Much of the traditional realm he so loved laid in his view. _Don't worry, I will protect you from yourselves,_ he whispered. _I will protect you like the justice of man couldn't do for my precious Hiro-kun._

There was a sudden flash of wings, a black mass in his peripheral glance. Kawahara turned and shuddered in awe as he saw Him, in his divine form. The Shinigami perched atop a boulder, looking more surreal than human. The glow of his All-Seeing Eyes faded into a deep rustic orange, black lips curving over sharp fangs. When the daylight hit his body, the intricate design of his attire struck Kawahara as something out of this world as it's many chains and heavy leather bindings gleamed.

"My lord," he said reverently with a deep bow. The gesture was wasted on the Shinigami, who paid little attention to this mundane ritualized greeting. "How many I serve you?" Kawahara whispered.

The Shinigami's voice was low, "have you found those people I asked for?"

The deathnote-wielding author nodded excitedly, happy to share the news of his discoveries, "All of them are detectives, my Lord. They work in the NPA headquarters in the heart of Tokyo."

Kawahara already had the deathnote out, pen poised above the page, "do you wish for me to destroy them?" His voice was eager, his expression sincere, almost child-like. This, more than anything, slightly nauseated the Shinigami. The mortal's blind devotion was uncomfortable at times. But as a tool, Kawahara was certainly useful.

"No, human; not yet," the Shinigami said but he worried that the zealot would kill them anyways just by the nervous way he held the pen, dangling it above the page. It would be terrible if the manaic killed the detectives before he had a chance to see them for himself.

Aizawa. Matsuda. Mogi. Ide. These names with no faces had been eating at his thoughts for days. But the Shinigami was thankful to find that these people were real, tangible and not as he had first feared them be: images from his own psychosis. The creature had not heard of Shinigami being capable of such mental malfunctions, it was not common at least. But the Shinigami already knew he was unique.

After all, no other death god ever complained of these memories from someone else's l;ife. As far as he could tell, he was alone in this regard.

"Do not kill them, understand?"

"Yes, my Lord and Savior," he answered obediently, "is there anything else I can do for your Cause? Shall I execute more criminals? Just say the word, just say--"

"Do what you wish about the criminals," the Shinigami interjected before the human could continue with his babbling escapade. "But I have another task for you."

"Anything you ask of me."

"I want you to find Amane Misa. Find her and bring her to me," the Shinigami ordered.

Kawahara did not hesitate, whatever the cost he would meet the death god's wishes. He had the means to do it and the tenacity to achieve what he set out to do. Amane Misa was a name he had known well, because unlike the others, she had been famous for several years. Kawahara already anticipated where he would begin his search, quickly packing his notepad into his messangerbag. Utterly excited, he said, "I will find her Lord Kira, I will find her."

Lord Kira.

The Shinigami had not bothered to correct him. He had heard since coming to the Earth realm of this being called Kira. He therefore knew that it was in his best interest to use the image of Kira to his advantage.

So Kira it was. The Shinigami was surprised to discover how easy the name came to him when he adapted to it. He was positive that that the real Kira would not mind too much about him taking on the name. Afterall, it seemed he had gone dormant for the last eight years. Perhaps the former keeper of the name was even dead.

_Shinigami Kira,_ he thought to himself. _I think I happen to like that name._

**Author's Note: **I thought I would take a moment to thank my readers. Reviews or not, I appreciate the encouragement. At this time, I have every intention of continuing this story straight to the end. But first, apologies go out to my dear friend Kawahara-kun. The crazed Kawahara of this story bares no resemblence in the one in the flesh. That was strictly coincidental that you ended up sharing names. And secondly, some may notice that I have made Near albino. This was inspired by the numerous Japanese fan-manga I have read where Near is often illustrated with red eyes. I do not imply that this detail is at all canon. Thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

She looked down at her watch, knowing Matsuda would be at least fifteen minutes late. Sayu was always punctual and he was always a few minutes behind. Together, they formed a sort of balance. And she supposed it was part of his charm to always be seen running about from one place to another like he was on Mission Impossible.

_I'm not in any rush, anyways,_ she said silently to herself. Her bored gaze scanned the empty cafe. A waitress lingered by the coffee machine, an old man in the corner with his grandson. The place was decorated to have a quaint French appeal. Vintage posters on the walls, scrawling Parisian signs. Whether this small Tokyo cafe made a good replica of the real thing, she didn't know. Having never been to Paris or anywhere so exotic for that matter, she was terribly limited in her opinion.

_Because even after all these years, I am still so damn sheltered. _She hated airplanes, hated travelling long distances. Anything that put her out of the familiar was immediately viewed with suspicion. When she got off work, she would try to make it straight home.

Work, home. Home, work. Ocassionally, her mother's house.

Her meetings with Matsuda were one of the few times she actually ventured out of her comfort zone. Over the years, her circle of friends had dwindled to the point that she would only ocassionally go out to the movies with them. It wasn't their fault, of course; there had been nothing her old high school friends could do to mend the ache of her family's destruction. For them, the despair of the situation was too beyond their comprehension.

Their condolences had only been a reminder of what she had lost.

Sayu didn't know if Matsuda knew that his partner was a social leper but after all these years, he more than likely had figured it out to some degree He had seen her before, he could see who she was now.

Because despite his goofy nature, Matsuda was more perceptive than people gave him credit for. Of all the cops on the force, Sayu firmly believed Matsuda was one of the few that could make an abuse victim smile just by cracking a mildly unfunny joke. She believed this because she had _seen_ it happen. More then once.

His optimism and good-nature ocassionally put him at a disadvantage among the veteran detectives who perceived his open book personality as unprofessional. She had met a lot of men on the force who believed the only way to interact with people was through gruff voices and stern stares.

_Matsuda certainly is one-of-a-kind, _she laughed inwardly. Yawning, Sayu lifted her jacket off the table and peered at the newspaper that had been left behind by another customer. She had purposely left the house without a copy of Tokyo Times, fearing what the papers would tell her. She wanted to escape, at least for only a short while, the misfortunes laid down in a bed of black and white.

Against her better judgement, she opened up the newspaper. On the editorial page, she was greeted with the words: KIRA CRITICIZERS TAKE CARE. It was scathing, colorful. And it made her slightly nauseous. It spoke of Kira as a savior, an omnipotent god that had returned to form a jury-less trial of all of humanity. It addressed the police, saying they should "step down in the name of the greater justice". _Whose justice? Kira had sentenced innocent people to death with no pause. Can someone tell me how that is justice? A serial killer is still a murderer no matter what guise he takes. Why can't people realize that?_

Sayu rubbed her forehead, agitated. Her reaction was just as she had predicted. Digging into her purse for asprin, she suddenly heard commotion outside the cafe. Sayu recognized Matsuda's voice before she saw him. Apologizing profusely to a gentleman he had crashed into, Sayu giggled to herself as Matsuda entered the cafe blushing a fierce red.

She could only smile as Matsuda bowed and seated himself opposite of her, "good morning Yagami; sorry I'm late, you know how traffic can be!"

In between cups of coffee, the two talked about trivial things. Matsuda gradually eased when Sayu avoided bringing up their conversation from the other night. In truth, if Sayu had any doubts as to the honesty of his excuse she did not express it. Matsuda knew the reason why she readily accepted his lie was because he had always been truthful with her. She didn't think she had any reason to doubt him. This kind of trust warmed Matsuda's heart but in the same turn, it pained him to have to betray her confidence in their partnership. He wondered if when the time came to share everything, if things could every be the same.

_I'll make it up to her sometime, _he promised, still too wary to consider the idea of exposing the truth. He wondered who it would hurt more: him or Sayu. For now, they drank their caffienated beverages in friendly conversation and with a struggle, Matsuda managed to put the Kira case out of his mind.

But elsewhere, the case was continuing to unfoil unbeknownst to L or any of the Japanese investigators. The Brotherhood of Kira was what they went by, the secret organization backed by people from all walks of life. Made up of mostly Japanese men, their invisible hands were quietly steering Japan but slowly, their reach would extend, seizing the whole world in its grasp. But it was one specific man among this group that had the power others only wished for. Lord Kira's gift. The _Death Note._

Kawahara sat at the head of the council, the others gathered around the table, gathered around him. He was the center of their gazes, the beacon of leadership. He told the others what he felt the Savior wished for them to do: continue executing the unworthy, make demands with the world leaders to end their wars or _else_. Because Lord Kira was often vague with Kawahara, the man left it to himself to interpret what their god really intended.

Kawahara didn't reveal what else their Lord had also asked of him to do. To find Amane Misa was his priority, his mission that he had decided to take on alone if only to bring him more glory in the eyes of his Lord.

A list of names and pictures were presented of convicts and criminals. Kawahara scanned the list, nodding with approval. He alone would commit the names to paper, it was he alone who could cast the final judgement.

"Has anyone thought of a way to handle the police?" Kawahara asked openly, "when we last ajourned there had been talk of infiltration. A spy to handle information and keep us one step ahead." This had not been Kawahara's idea in the least; the police force could be their allies in Kira's cause given the right presentation. It was too soon for the common man to fully appreciate what the Lord's work would do for them, for their future, but Kawahara knew with time that could change. But more than one of the Brothers felt at unease with the police, they felt they too were part of the enemy force and so Kawahara, out-numbered, felt the necessity of abiding by the groups wishes. At least in this regard.

"It's been done," a voice called out. People turned to see the figure emerge from the shadows. Sekiguchi Akira lifted his hood, flashing a smile to his brothers in cause. He revealed his badge as if to emphasize his point, "and I will be the one to help bring the NPA to its knees."

Kawahara did not trust Sekiguchi for a minute.

He never had. Ever since the brotherhood's early days, Sekiguchi had possessed too much bravado for Kawahara's taste. He knew that Sekiguchi wanted the Lord's power for himself; that if he could, he would _steal_ it. His aligator smile and devil eyes set Kawahara on nerve; but the spy captured everyone else with his charm. Sekiguchi was young and he was handsome. The two qualities side-by-side presented a very convincing fascade for whatever sins laid beneath the surface.

So Kawahara merely feigned a congradulatory expression while others applauded. Inside he was calculating, wondering how he could justify killing Sekiguchi without it being deemed an entirely selfish jealousy. Kawahara believed himself to be a moral man; it was why he was so well suited the duties of serving Lord Kira after all.

But Sekiguchi was a snake, slithering on its belly in the shadows of Kawahara's future Eden. Yet before Kawahara could cast him from the golden gates he decided to first make use of this man.

And when he had served his purpose, Sekiguchi would be judged.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Like a prenatural hawk, the Shinigami sat poised atop a skyscraper; Tokyo-inhabitants crawling under his feet on the sidewalks below. It was dusk, the bloody red of the sky bleeding into the dark tip of Fuji-san. The clouds illuminated under the breath of a dying sun, expanding across the horizon. Few things inspired the Shinigami with a sense of awe.

This was not one of them.

In fact, his attention was not on the sunset. Nature rarely amused him the way that humans did. In all their folly, mortals were a spectacle. A continous comedy built on all their hypocrisy and miscalculations. They were inferior, yes, but also interesting. The shinigami wondered if they could be trained, trained in the way they dominated over their pet animals. But he had yet to make a lasting judgment. He was still testing the possibility on Kawahara.

The shinigami continued to watch the humans from his lofty perch. He was, both physically and mentally out of place in the mortal's realm and yet they walked by and he remained unobserved. Anonymity was a double-edged sword; he enjoyed being able to spread his wings and fly through the sky without the collection of stares but something, a dull annoyance in the back of his mind was telling him that it should not be this way. He should not only be seen, but _feared._

Spurred by a sudden urge the shinigami leaped, black wings licking the air as he spiraled high into the clouds of blood-color. . .

_"To have wings would be cool," the teenager said with a mixed tone of wonder and thoughtfulness. His brown eyes widened with a childish excitement. The scene unfolded, the warm glow of the small bedroom revealing shelves of books, a small television and a computer. They were alone, the boy and his shinigami-roommate. _

_The Shinigami grinned and grinned, delighted that he might have finally caught the boy saying something foolish, "but Light wouldn't that attrack unnecessary attention?" His thick lips folded back in an unwavering smile that stretched across his caving white face. Long, hideous fangs gaped in his mouth like a cavern of teeth. Where other mortals would have winced, the teenager met the shinigami's gaze with a level-headed boldness. There was an absence of fear in his expression, the first clue that this was not an ordinary mortal. _

_The veil of innocence fell away, a cold serious man lurking under the surface of the teenager's guise. Lean arms folded across his chest, he leaned back into computer chair and gave a mild shrug, "You're right, Ryuk but I was only joking anyways." But secretly he wasn't. Secretly, Light dreamed of a day he could have his wings, flying in the sky and judging the impure with godly might._

The Shinigami snapped back to reality, the fingers of the memory loosening their hold. The death god felt disoriented as he often did after these experiences. They came to him unbidden, triggered by some unknown force of recollection. _But to recollect something is to imply I have experienced it before in the first place. _As far as the Shinigami could rationalize he had never known a young man named Light before now. And this new character in these memories, Ryuk. _Wouldn't I remember such a deformed smile if I had seen it before?_

In the other realm, there were many shinigami spread out across an unlimited field of places. Even if he wanted to find this death-god Ryuk, it was slim to none that he could be easily located. It was said once that the death realm stretched on into eternity, that nobody but the Shinigami King knew for sure how many death gods there really were. _If only it was as simple to find someone in the death realm as it is here on earth. _Shinigami Kira marvelled at the tenacity of humans to create new inventions. The telephone, the computer, _the internet._

He had watched Kawahara use these devices before, surpressing his curiousity at how it was all achieved with such a lowly species. Humans had mastered the art of long distance communication while death-gods were still living in darkness. _That is terribly pathetic. _

But as grave as the death realm's downfall was to the shinigami, he had other matters to attend to. There was a person he needed to find. It was important enough that he didn't give Kawahara the responsibility. _Because humans are suspectable to failure_, he thought to himself and the shinigami could not afford it. Not on this ocassion. The person he needed to find was someone he knew was important even if he didn't know _why._

More important than Amane Misa, more important than those investigators. It was someone who could unravel the puzzle, feed him the answers he needed.

And maybe what ever he discovered would lay to rest this ghost that haunted his thoughts.

* * *

After meeting up at the cafe, Matsuda and Sayu had been called into the headquarters. It was crowded, reporters and Kira-demonstrators still stationed outside the doors. The clerks at the front desk gave them a weary nod while they continued to manage the phonelines that had yet to stop ringing.

"I can't believe it's still so crazy out there," Matsuda commented, glancing several times over his shoulder as they left the main entrance and the many people loitering outside.

The mayhem of the civilians didn't seem any worse though than the chaos of their office. There was a frantic buzz in the air as the fax machines beeped and the printers roared. One detective accidently knocked into Sayu as he sprinted down the aisle. As they discovered, some of the agents had been up all night tending to phonecalls. There had been a constant flow of information, mostly dead-ends, through the evening well into the morning.

Sayu and Matsuda were immediately put to work in reviewing phonecalls and email print-offs. The surge of civilians trying to share their guesses and tips did not waver and within the first hour alone, Sayu was already feeling overwhelmed with the mounting pile of papers on her desk. She was about to let out a whine when another pile of papers were added to the load when she looked over at her partner.

Matsuda, who's desk was stationed facing her own, seemed flushed with work but did not complain. Another one of his virtues Sayu always appreciated was his readiness to do any task set before him, no matter how tedious or trivial others would take it to be. She watched him as he worked, his head burrowed in the print-offs; his eyes were focused as he wielded a highlighter, marking down anything that might be slightly useful. When he caught her looking at him, Matsuda smiled and spoke encouragement as he continued, "don't worry Yagami-chan, it gets easier."

They were working diligently for a couple of hours before Ide stopped by their desks. They both looked up but Sayu seemed invisible to Ide as he addressed Matsuda, "Aizawa wants to talk to us right now."

"Okay!" Matsuda bumped his knee on his desk as he jumped up, wincing. Sayu merely blinked, having set her pen down and waited for Ide to at least acknowledge her existence. Ide turned away and was already marching towards the chief superintendent's office.

"What's going on, Matsuda?" She asked, "This can't be about that case again is it?"

Her partner shrugged. There was a flash of nervousness in his expression but it disappeared as he tried not to meet her gaze evenly. The momentary change from happy-go-lucky to nervous was caught by Sayu, even if it did not immediately register any suspicion. With a bow, he answered, "I guess I won't find out until I go talk to him. _Gambatte_, Yagami-chan. I'll be right back."

Although Matsuda had been cheerful, it did not rub off on Sayu. Scowling, she glared at the chief-superintendent's office door where she had watched Matsuda, Ide and Mogi. She hadn't liked the way Ide had totally ignored her, the way her partner for the second-time had left for a meeting that didn't involve the both of them. Sayu often felt the isolation of being the only woman on the detective division but it didn't usually bother her, not like _this._

Just as she was fuming over the treatment she had momentarily been given, a cup of water was placed in front of her. Sayu looked up and saw a familiar face. She forced a polite smile, bowing her head slightly in greeting, "oh hello Sekiguchi-san. Thank you for the water."

Sekiguchi smiled in return, casually leaning on the edge of her desk, "No problem. You looked like you could use something to drink. I think everyone here is pretty stressed, wouldn't you say?"

There was a general atmosphere of frustration in the air, but looking into Sekiguchi's face Sayu could see no sign of distress. He was calm, relaxed and this slightly disturbed her on a level she could not comprehend. It was a matter of intuition, one she depended on frequently to crack a case even if she did not always realize she was relying on it.

"Yes," she said with a clipped tone, "I just got here a few hours ago though, so I am not as bad off as those who have been here all night."

He nodded. There was a lull in the conversation before he picked it up once more with a question that had already been aching in Sayu's thoughts, "so what did Ide-san want with your partner?"

Sayu didn't want to answer with the truth because then she would feel foolish for being so out of the loop herself. So instead she merely shrugged and answered with an ambigious reply, "He mentioned something about an old case, one before I was Matsuda's partner. I think he wanted clarification about it."

"Ah," he said, "was it about the old Kira case?"

Sayu froze. Although she had been lying to Sekiguchi about why Ide and Matsuda had gone into Aizawa's office, this question raised her own suspicions about why Matsuda had been called away again. Ide, Mogi, Matsuda and Aizawa hadn't they worked together with her father and brother? Of all of her father's collegues they had been the only four that he had invited over to their home repeatedly once the Kira case had been fast underway. . .

Sekiguchi was still awaiting an answer, his eyes boring into her. He was smiling pleasantly and perhaps for him this was just idle conversation but for Sayu it now brought to light a very likely cause of her partner's disappearance for the second day in a row. As such, she could not recipitate the amiable gesture. "Maybe it was," she replied, "I wasn't listening very closely."

At that point, Sekiguchi must have guessed she did not want to talk more about the topic because he let it go. He asked her other things, but they were small questions, things she could easily dodge if she didn't want to answer. Questions like what she did for fun in her spare time. Things that circled around her personal life, or lack thereof.

Sayu found Sekiguchi attractive but only on the basis of physical features. He was young, like herself, but other then that they had little in common. She knew the rumors of this detective, that he didn't always play by the rules. Sayu was not one to place trust in idle gossip but something about it stood true and the woman was not about to discredit her feelings.

And one thing was for sure, Sekiguchi made her feel uncomfortable.

Diverting her gaze to the paperwork so she didn't have to look at him, Sayu had begun to take notes again in hopes that Sekiguchi would take a hint that she wanted to be left alone. Several moments passed and subtely she found her writing hand gently engulfed in his. Sekiguchi leaned closer but only for a fraction of a moment, his smile was closed as he whispered,"catch you around, Yagami-chan."

And then he was gone. Sayu felt flustered, shocked by Sekiguchi's forwardness. Her personal space having been violated she looked for witnesses of the incident but when she peered about, it seemed no one had noticed this encounter. Everyone was still in their same routines. Sekiguchi's mild harrassment had gone unnoticed.

Sayu had planned to stay and wait for Matsuda to come out of Aizawa's office because he had made it sound as though whatever matter he had to address could be handled quickly. But fifteen minutes, then twenty and then a whole hour and a half went by and no one came out of that room. And if it really was about Kira, then Sayu figured he wasn't going to come out any time soon.

So instead of waiting, Sayu took a suitcase full of papers to sort through and left. She didn't feel comfortable after the incident with Sekiguchi, in fact she was very troubled by it, and her anxieties were compounded by the fact that she now harbored a sense of doubt in Matsuda--her one and only ally in the National Police Agency. Had he lied to here about the real reason Aizawa had spoken with him the other day? If that was a lie, what else was?

She didn't like to think that Matsuda could be dishonest with her. But already her investigator's mind was jumping to conclusions, testing the plausibility of each and every one of them. Discovering which conclusion was right would become a process of elimination. It wouldn't be long before she would begin to seek answers through what she did best---_investigating_. If it was sheer paranoia pushing her, Sayu would find the evidence to cure her doubt. But it was clear, once she started a search for the truth nothing would deter her. She knew this about herself, knew her stubbornness to unlock secrets would push her to face even the grimmest of realities. She was walking through shadows now, but only for the present.

What Sayu wondered was when she found the proverbial light switch, would she be satisfied with what had been hidden in the darkness?


End file.
